The Room and the Fire Watch a Sick Man Over Night
This room, this morning,
Is not the warm rosy-faced mother
Who said last night,
“Come to sleep, boy.”
My weariness, her untidy hair,
My dreams, her stooped shoulders—
It is an old nurse with red-streaked eyes
Set in her thin ashen face.
Is not the warm rosy-faced mother
Who said last night,
“Come to sleep, boy.”
My weariness, her untidy hair,
My dreams, her stooped shoulders—
It is an old nurse with red-streaked eyes
Set in her thin ashen face.
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